


Hard at Work

by endlesstalesofwonder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Human, Chief of Police Stiles Stilinski, Cop Stiles Stilinksi, Flirting, Gang Leader Derek Hale, Gun Wounds, Hurt / Comfort, John Stilinski - Freeform, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Mob Boss Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, married, married sterek, meet cute, mentioned Erica Reyes - Freeform, not slick Stiles, sheriff stilinski - Freeform, swearing under pressure, tw: kidnapped, tw: torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23388103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesstalesofwonder/pseuds/endlesstalesofwonder
Summary: Stiles Stilinski never thought being Chief of Police would help him get closer to his husband.A(n unlikely) Chief of Police x Mob Boss story.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 429





	1. On the Job

Just once, Stiles would like a quiet night on patrol. He wanted to sit in his car at the lookout and maybe pull over a couple of speeders, maybe question a few suspicious looking fellows — something other than fill out the mountain of paperwork he didn’t realize came with the  _ Chief of Police  _ title.

_ “Reported shots have been fired in the West District, near 3rd and 12th. Please be advised —”’ _

Not tonight.

“Not again,” he sighed, confirming his location with dispatch before turning on his siren and taking off for the West District.

It was a mess when he arrived. It was always a mess when he arrived at an in-action scene. It was why he was recommended for the promotion and accepted so easily. He was part of the Clean Up Crew, a specialized group of investigators known for shutting down any operation in a matter of minutes. His team of seven had disbanded a group of human traffickers, stopped multiple hostage-and-robbery situations, and managed to capture serial killers and most-wanted men (and women).

Other units had arrived on the scene, pulled over haphazardly in order to get inside as quickly as possible. A handful of officers were creeping from behind their vehicles to the side of the hangar door where there were other officers dashing off inside to the chaos. Shots were being fired left and right, and as far as Stiles could tell, three windows had been shattered on the patrol cars. 

And he knew he’d have to fill out the request to replace all of them.

A young deputy rushed over and gave him the low-down. There was suspicious activity — cars pulling into the hanger with people entering for hours without end and no one leaving. The first gun shot rang out, alerting the nearest patrol which then escalated into a whole shoot out.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask about if they knew who the hanger belonged to when a shot cracked his windshield. He jerked the kid down behind one of the other squad cars, pain reverberating up his body already with the force of it. He pulled out his weapon.

“Who are we dealing with?”

The kid didn’t answer at first. Stiles had to hit him in the leg to get him to at least jerk into attention. He repeated the question.

“Reports came in that the Alpha Pack and the Triple Spiral group are involved.”

_ Fucking perfect. _ The Alpha Pack was at the forefront of their back-alley industry: dealing in sex trafficking, armed robbery, and several accounts of kidnapping and murder. Stiles had only ever read the files passing through the office but never had his hands in any of their cases. They were one of several Big Bad gangs and organizations across the nation.

Triple Spiral was public enemy number one. They were everywhere and nowhere at once. They’d gotten away with several accounts of museum thefts and other armed robberies, more assault and batteries than Stiles could count, and a good number of murders as well. No one knew where they were, as they made sure to cover their tracks. 

The only way that they could tell it was a Triple Spiral sighting was because they always left their mark on the wall in a place where it was the first thing everyone could see. Their leader, the infamous Derek Hale, which no one has seen since the assassination of his family, was the worst of the worst — the Biggest of the Bad.

When Stiles had their case, he wanted nothing but to bring Derek Hale in and claim his rightful title as Hero of the Country. Unfortunately, it was nearly a year before the case was reassigned to another organization for them to handle.

Another shot embedded itself into his car.  _ “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” _

Stiles looked over at the rim of one of his turned tires, seeing a pair of figures getting closer while a few more stayed behind. He snapped over the hood of the car and fired at the closest men to him. He heard the swears of the men, along with their own fire. He could hear the names  _ Cherub  _ and  _ Shadow  _ over the rapid fire. 

He took another few shots before retreating back down again. There were a series of curses louder than the first and he knew,  _ he knew in his gut,  _ that he’d hit someone.

He also knew he was never going to hear the end of this.

More sirens wailed from the other side of the street. The men scattered around the lot made an awful amount of chatter. Stiles snapped back up to find the last of their little group retreating back into the warehouse. He lowered his gun as the first of the backup arrived.

“There are at least four inside,” he told the deputies that rushed toward the warehouse.

Stiles slumped back down behind the car, looking over at his windshield and dreading the amount of paperwork this was going to get him in the morning.

In a manner of minutes, the response building had cleared out the building, and Stiles knew they’d gotten away. Again. He ran his hand through his hair and carefully exhaled through his nose. 

Wrapping up the scene was no big deal. With his new title came the holy power of Delegation — so he passed it off to the sheriff of the town and told him to get the paperwork to him in the next few days. He caught a ride back with one of the other deputies that worked in the nearby department, declined his thoughtful invitation to go out for drinks some time, and practically collapsed the moment he was inside his house.

He stripped pieces of his uniform as he went. Socks were the first to go. Then he unbuckled his belt while walking over to his concealed safe in the wall to put away his service weapon. The rest was ditched somewhere along the way. He wasn’t going to be picky until he tripped over them in the morning.

He fell asleep in a manner of minutes. And he woke up just as quickly.

Even as a child, Stiles was always a light sleeper. Joining the force seemed reasonable for the acquired uneasiness and ability to react at any hour of the night. 

He jerked into an upright position, pulling out the gun he always hid under his pillow for intruders, and pointed it at the massive figure in the window. 

And then he put the gun back. He spied the time on his clock then looked back over at the figure.

“Morning.”  _ As if three in the morning was anything to go by.  _

The figure said nothing. They crossed over, walking to the bed with the prowl and finesse of a man in hungry search of something. Stiles smirked and leaned back in bed.

“How was work today, babe?”

“How was work today?” the shadowed man echoed. _“You shot me.”_

Stiles covered his face. He thought their existential conversations had passed the middle-of-the-night time zone. “I wasn’t trying to shoot you —”

“You were trying to shoot  _ something—”  _ the man waved one of his arms around. Stiles acutely focused on the sling holding the other arm.

“Did they at least treat it correctly?”

The man shrugged, albeit with one shoulder. “Erica did her best.”

_ And that meant she’d stuck a bandage over it and wished it luck.  _ Stiles sighed, pulling aside the covers to shuffle into the bathroom for the first aid kit.

“Sit down.” The man didn’t move an inch. “ _ Sit down, Derek.” _

Derek was as reluctant as he possibly could be, which wasn’t much. He always caved when he used his pleading voice. It had gotten them into some very enthusiastic positions before, and never failed to get him to do something.

He made sure to be gentle removing the botched nurse attempt and replaced it with a decent fix. At least the bullet had been removed, so he had Erica to thank for that. It was nothing extreme, but it would do him enough to avoid needing to go to the hospital. Derek hummed softly at the new bandage and leaned forward to press their lips together.

Stiles revelled in the kiss, his whole body melting into him. He could kiss Derek for hours — and he had. He slipped a hand into his dark hair, pulling him closer without injuring him further, but they both knew Derek could handle it.

Despite his flaring  _ need,  _ Stiles pulled away to rest their foreheads together. “How long can you stay?”

Derek didn’t look over at the clock. His eyes never left his face. “As long as I can.”

“So long as you leave before Ms. Mulligan feeds the neighborhood cats at five. She’ll never let me down for having a  _ nightly visitor.” _

Derek grinned, tilting them over so he could shuffle Stiles onto his side on the bed. “Not even if it’s your husband?”

_ “Especially  _ if it’s my husband.” His hand had a mind of its own, tracing the same triple spiral mark over the new bullet mark he’d need to memorize among the hundreds of other scars that marred his skin. “I really didn’t mean to hit you.”

“I know.” Derek kissed him on the temple. “For better or for worse, remember?”

Stiles snorted. “You never let me forget.”  _ Although he’s the one who usually makes him better.  _

He tried to keep his mind centered in his warm embrace while he drifted into sleep.


	2. Take Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't understand why he's so kidnappable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: events that include being kidnapped and tortured*
> 
> *not in graphic detail

In his defense, it wasn’t his fault that his bullet managed to land in the prior day’s shoot out. He was  _ trying  _ to miss, trying to act the part since he saw his husband turn around that corner and just  _ brood.  _ Like an idiot that  _ wanted to be shot.  _ And now it’s “all his fault” and since he did the shooting it was his turn to buy the apology. 

Derek loved flowers. He loved them so much he was a walking cliche. Not that Stiles was complaining. The man had grown up on a reservation preserve so flowers were in his DNA and all that shit. It never failed to make him feel so  _ warm  _ to see him brighten at the sight of flowers from his childhood. 

There was a specific flower shop down the street from his house that had those flowers, and she knew the story too. Parts of it. The important bits. She knew that Stiles had a lover who was also a lover of the flowers and that Stiles was in there… a lot. 

After his shift, he parked around the corner from the store, a mid-point between there and home, and watched as the streetlights turned on all at once. 

Stiles wasn’t even through the door yet and he heard, “What’d you do this time?” 

Gone was the regular wave and smile he’d gotten when he’d first started coming to the shop. His hands gestured wildly as he defended himself with, “It wasn’t even my fault this time!”

“Mhm. Sure, honey.”

Gloria was the owner and one of two people who worked the front of the store. Stiles was hoping August was working instead. At least he played dumb and smiled some of the time. Gloria didn’t even hide the fact that she wanted to hit Stiles with the bouquet half of the time.

She shuffled around in the back, no doubt gathering the pre-bundled Stilinski batch that she always made sure to have in stock for his fuck-ups. His bouquet had even made the flower menu, he was in there so often.

Gloria reappeared as he was nose deep in a set of tulips by the window. She rang up his order while he filled in the card with a heartfelt:

**_I’m sorry and I love you. (But it’ll probably happen again.)_ **

Stiles bid her goodnight and walked back out to his car with his bouquet in one hand and his keys in the other. He unlocked it, the tail lights flashing before he felt something hit the back of his head and he felt to the ground in darkness.

When he came to, everything was throbbing and pulsating behind the black curtain that veiled his sight. The bitter taste of blood — his own, he was sure — tainted the back of his throat. His mind came to him slowly: his thoughts and deductions first before his memories of where he’d been before. He groaned as another wave of pain rushed through his head and someone hummed.

“Good. You’re awake.” A man, younger rather than older, probably gang-related.

“I’m afr’d you’ve go’me atta disantage.”  _ Smooth, Stilinski. _

“Mm,” the man mused again before pulling his head back to expose the long expanse of his throat. Stiles didn’t need the hood to be removed to know that the pressure at his neck was a switchblade. “I wonder why the boss is so… interested in you.”

That’s just what Stiles needed: another passion kidnapping. This made it the third kidnapping out of the total twelve nearly-kidnapped moments. The first had been gang related — how he’d met Derek actually (totally not his fault). The second had definitely been his fault. He was flaunting his badge at a bar and ended up in the trunk of a car. Thankfully, Derek had found him in a relatively decent condition.

_ Derek.  _

Stiles could  _ hear  _ the lecture he was going to get when he got home. The man had given him many points about  _ being smart  _ and had actually given him a demonstration of how to get out of a chair in under two minutes. Which wouldn’t exactly help him now.

He waited. The knife was eventually lifted from the delicate skin of his neck and instead floated around his jugular (but he knew a scare-tactic when he felt it — plus Derek had included it in his training). He jerked when a fist pulled on his shirt and the knife sliced upwards, allowing the stale, cool air of the room to dig into him.

“Nothing especially impressive.”

_ Yeah right, dickface.  _ He bit his tongue to hold the words back.

“Well then…” the chair the man was in creaked under the pressure. “Let’s have some fun shall we.”

He couldn’t remember how long he was there for. The head injury had scrambled him good and stayed shakey throughout the entire “fun session” the man had. The punches and hits weren’t intended to make him die quickly, or even to extract information with pushes to the extremes. He was doing it because he had the time;  _ because he could. _

There were pauses in his hits, no doubt for the man to wipe his hands clean and take a breather. At the beginning, Stiles listened and learned, trying to see if the man would ever leave him to his own mind. He never did that. He grew tired of waiting and now basked in the silence that the man gave him to catch his own breath —

The door slammed open. Feet shuffled on the ground. Too many to count.  _ “What the hell is this?” _

_ Derek. Good. Derekderekderekderekderekerekderke.  _

_ “What the fuck did you do?” _

The man  _ yelped.  _ “I only did what you asked — w-what you were talking about doing yourself, Sir.”

Another yelp. More shuffling and slamming.

The man gasped. “You said that you wanted to  _ take him out  _ and  _ something big,  _ so I figured I’d—”

_ “You idiot.,”  _ Derek growled. Something slumped to the ground. The man. _ “Take him out of here.” _

The man babbled something. He got quieter. The door shut. Footsteps got closer and there was only the deep breathing of one man —  _ his man.  _ “Stiles.”

His blindfold was taken off, or at least he thought it was. There was very little different between the darkness and the blurred mess in front of him. 

He could still  _ feel,  _ although barely. He could feel someone pressed into him, cradling the back of his head, then a second pair of hands working at the binds on his wrists before his mind started to wander, thinking of  _ two  _ of his husband before everything went black again.

Stiles had an aversion to hospitals as strong as his husband did. They were horribly white and the strong sterile smell could make anyone lose the sense for good. He came to in pieces, blinking into the world of the living like he was trying to swim through mud.

A woman stood beside the bed looking at a clipboard. 

As eloquent as ever, Stiles started choking. The nurse quickly got him a cup of water, easing him into taking smaller sips before chugging the thing. It took him a while to get the hang of the simple task.

“Nurse. How’d I get here?”

She examined the clipboard again. “You were dropped off by someone. The man left before we could get his information.”

“Thanks.”

“Just push the button if you need anything else.” 

The nurse left and closed the door behind her. It wasn’t long before the doctor came in and gave him an extensive list of injuries, tests, and recovery methods. It was all doable and something he’d been through before. The only downside was he didn’t think he had any sick leave left to use for the time off.

With the big words and the even bigger headache, he pushed the pain button and floated back into his dreams.

His dreams were mixed episodes of the event. He saw himself in the chair as he landed the blows to himself; then he saw Derek in the chair before the dream took a hard right and water came from the middle of nowhere. Apparently his subconscious had a thing for Flashdance. Good to know.

He came to again with the room covered in shadows and an equally dark man-shaped shadow standing beside his bed. 

An arm snapped out and covered his mouth. “Don’t scream.”

Stiles pushed ( _ more like gently nudged)  _ at the hand covering his mouth. “I think we’ve passed the screaming phase. Unless you’re offering to—”

“You’re fine,” the man stated, but it was more of an exasperated sigh. Stiles could see the tenseness is his shoulders fading with each breath.

“I could have told you that.”

His husband’s eyes scanned over every inch of him, cataloging every injury as though it were his own. His hand returned, cupping the curve of his cheek to brush his cheekbone. “You scared me.”

“I knew you’d find me.”

“I shouldn’t need to.”

Stiles turned into the palm of his hand, turning to press a soft kiss at his pulse point. “You also shouldn’t need to put trackers in my shoes, but I’m glad you did anyways.”

“I didn’t think you knew about that,” the man said softly.

“Does that mean I can do the same to you?”

The hand dropped from his face. “No.”

Stiles chuckled, scrambling for his hand to come back, threading their fingers together on the horribly bed-blanket. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

Derek squeezed his hand. “You’re an idiot.”

“You married me.”

“It’s not too late for a divorce.”

“Hey, you’re stuck with me, buddy.” 

They both shared a quiet laugh, smiling dumbly at each other while riding the high that Stiles was  _ alive  _ and  _ well  _ rather than… not. Stiles knew what it meant for Derek, knowing that Stiles was safe no matter where he was. He didn’t want to lose his family again, and Stiles would never allow for that to happen.

Both men perked up as the door opened. A familiar man stepped in with his hands in his pockets. “Derek.”

“John.”

“Dad?” His father,  _ a small town Sheriff,  _ knew his husband,  _ a highly wanted mob boss.  _ And he was speaking to him as though they had been son-in-law and father-in-law for years. And they had. “You know?”

His father turned to him with a very fatherly you-better-listen-to-me-or-I-will-ground-you face. “You haven’t been able to keep a secret from me since you were in high school. Did you really think you were ahead of this one?”

He scratched his scruff. “Yeah.”

His father shook his head and Derek smiled. He turned to the man in question. “They’re changing shifts in a few minutes.”

Derek nodded. “I should go.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, looking from his father to his husband. “You two —”

“Speculation,” Derek cut off. “I’ll see you at… later.”

John nodded, focusing his attention pointedly at the details of his son’s medical record and injury list. Stiles leaned over and gave his husband one last kiss.

“I’ll see you there,” he whispered against his lips.

Derek hummed, hesitating before forcing himself to leave. He moved quickly, needing to make sure he wasn’t seen by anybody, and, damn, if Stiles didn’t want to always watch him leave a room.

His father was silent for a moment before looking up and asking, “So… Do you want to explain to me exactly  _ how  _ you ended up being kidnapped? Again?”

“First off, it started off with me not-shooting a certain someone on the job —”


End file.
